


Death vs. Destiel

by Taybay14



Series: Saving people, writing prompts [32]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cas hates Death, Dean's soul marked by Death, Death can be one smooth mother fucker, Death can shapeshift, Death hates Cas, Death is Creepy, Death is a stalker, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel kept secret, Flashbacks, Lots of Angst, Manipulation, Non-Con Elements (no rape), Obsessive Death, Spying, Threats, black mail, happy ending I promise, major character death (not dean or cas), some more angst, time jumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 04:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taybay14/pseuds/Taybay14
Summary: • Prompt from Longkissgoodnightbatmanandtwofac: Death falls in love with a boy named Dean the day he comes to collect his mother. Once Dean comes up age Death comes and professes his love. Naturally Dean rejects him before falling in love with Cas and starting a family with him. But Death refuses to accept Dean's rejection starts seducing Dean's family members and works to sabotage Dean's marriage. He makes it very clear that he will stop if Dean accepts his affections.** Oh boy. I enjoyed writing Death in this FAR TOO MUCH. Don't worry, though. End-game Destiel.





	Death vs. Destiel

November 2nd, 1983 was colder than usual in Lawrence, Kansas. From the moment Death got out of his red and black 1967 Stingray, the icy air snapping across his face, he knew the spirit he was there to retrieve was killed by something supernatural. Death hoped it wasn't still around. He rarely collects soul anymore - that's what his reapers are for - but this soul is a part of something much bigger, so Death chose to handle it himself. He'll be unimpressed if some lowly being gets in his way just because it wants to stick around to watch all the fun. 

As Death approached the burning house, an abandoned soul pinging from inside, he was caught off guard by a tiny human standing on the sidewalk, barefoot and holding a bundle of something in his arms. The boy couldn't have been more than 4 or 5 years of age. He had these wide, innocent green eyes that reflected the flames as he watched his home burn. Death watched as that vulnerable innocence slowly turned to ash, the weight of the world settling on the boy's frail shoulders. 

"'S okay, Sammy," the boy whispered, completely unaware that Death was standing in front of them. "I gots you. I keep you safe."

It was endearing, this notion that a small child truly believed he could protect his brother from the sadistic world they lived in. The boy had a strong soul, the thing practically singing out to Death, and that's all it took. He was hooked. 

Death rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, the light touch making the child shiver. The boy's soul whispered to him. _Dean_. His name is Dean. 

And his mama says angels watch over him. 

A smirk pulls at Death's lips. He supposes it's true. From this point on, the angel of death plans on keeping a very close eye on this Dean Winchester. 

Death closed his eyes and marked Dean for eternity. Now no one would doubt who he belonged to. The boy had gasped, most likely feeling something strange as his soul was claimed, but then he went back to watching the house in a trance. 

"I will see you soon, little one," Death whispered. His eyes flicked to the bundle in his boy's arms - an infant - and frowned. The infant was tainted. Something about it off and dangerous. Death would allow it to live, for Dean's sake, but he'll have to keep a close eye on it. The second the marred soul becomes too dangerous for his Dean, Death will eradicate it. 

Death lit a cigarette, letting it rest between his lips as he shrugged out of his heavy leather jacket. It's not like temperature bothered him, and these children were freezing. Obviously, Dean wouldn’t be able to see the jacket, that would just confuse the poor boy, but Dean could feel it. He settled it over Dean's body, the thing nearly reaching the boy’s ankles, and watched as Dean's entire body relaxed beneath it. A small sigh of relief fell from the boy’s lips as a stray tear fell down his cheek. Death wiped it away, then stroked the boy's freckled cheek a few more times to send him comfort.

Once Dean's soul was soothed - as much as it could be, considering the night he had - Death took a puff of his cigarette, flicked some ash onto the ground, and headed inside. He had work to do. 

\----

Death visited Dean Winchester often. He let the boy be - only stepping in when he felt it was necessary, like when Dean was sick with pneumonia that John fucking Winchester didn't get treated soon enough, compromising seven-year-old Dean’s little lungs, or for the car accident Dean got into when he was 16, wrecking his father’s impala so badly that it caught fire. For the first incident, Death healed Dean with a kiss to his forehead and made John Winchester miserable for months on end by fucking with his luck. For the second incident, Death fixed the car to protect Dean from his father’s wrath - and because it’s a gorgeous fucking car - and brought Dean to the motel bed he was currently using as his own. He sat with Dean all night, stroking his hair as he gave him a dream so similar to the accident that when Dean woke up without a scratch, he thought it had all been his imagination. 

That’s why Death is so damn excited when Dean Winchester _finally _turns 18. He wants to interact with Dean. To take him out on dates to faraway places that are nothing like Kansas. To travel the world together. Hell, to travel _the universe_ if Dean’s interested. Death will give Dean Winchester the world. He’ll move mountains and create new oceans. He’ll tell Dean stories of all of the great wars - something he knows Dean is very interested in, considering he’s always watching war movies and documentaries. If Dean wants, he can visit Mary in heaven - God’s been MIA, but Death and Michael get along well so he knows they’d be allowed to enter the kingdom. 

Out of all of these plans - _fourteen years of plans _\- Death never considered one thing. 

Dean saying no. 

\----

Dean spends his eighteenth birthday with a fake ID and his best friend Ash. They hit a club in the city nearest to them, a place that just recently opened and gears toward the LGBTQ+ community. They start the night out with a shot of tequila before ordering drinks and hitting the dance floor. Between the booze, the music, and all the sweaty bodies, the night begins to blur. Everything feels light and easy. Dean, for the first time in a long time, feels like he can breathe. 

That’s why he’s laughing to himself as he stumbles outside for a cigarette. Ash is still inside, getting awfully friendly with a guy twice his damn size, so Dean is alone. After taking a cigarette out and sticking it between his lips, Dean searches for his lighter. He pats his pockets a few times before realizing Ash took it after their last smoke break. 

“Fuck,” he grumbles, even though he’s unable to truly be upset about it. The booze overrides any disappointment in the moment. 

A warm, rough voice that sounds like gravel and sex asks, “Need a light?”

Dean turns to find a tall, handsome man with eyes so dark brown he’d think they were black. He’s wearing black jeans, a denim colored casual button-up, and a black leather jacket. The man smirks when Dean fails to speak, digging in the pocket of his open jacket. When he offers the lighter, Dean just stares at it. 

“You want me to light it for ya?” the man asks with an eyebrow raised. 

“Oh! N - no,” Dean stutters, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I can do it. Thanks.”

Dean takes the lighter, shivering when his fingers brush against the man’s. The touch is achingly familiar. 

He laughs softly when he looks down at the thing. It’s black, with white letters etched into it. “The devil made me do it?” Dean asks in amusement. 

“Don’t worry. If anything, I’m the one making the devil misbehave.”

Looking up at the stranger as he lights the cigarette, Dean gets a gut feeling that the man isn’t lying. He has danger written all over him. John Winchester would tell him to run away immediately, always trying to get Dean to trust his instincts. Then again, John would be telling him to run because this is a man, not a woman, in front of Dean. That thought is all it takes for Dean to ignore the warning bells in his mind. 

John Winchester can screw himself. 

The man watching Dean smirks. Dean takes the cigarette out, exhaling smoke. “What?”

“What?” the man repeats. 

“What’s the smile for?” 

The man’s eyes rake over Dean’s body before settling back on his face. “Just you.”

“Me?” Dean practically squeaks. 

He takes another drag to hide how embarrassing that just was. Thankfully, the man doesn’t tease him about it. He just gives Dean a surprisingly warm smile and says quietly, “Yes. You. You’re something very special, Dean.”

In a split-second, Dean goes from blushing and hopeful, to guarded and alert. His training kicks in, helping him stay calm. Still, though, his fingers slightly tremble where they cradle his cigarette. 

“Funny,” Dean says in a confident voice that makes him proud. “Don’t remember telling you my name.”

The man’s smile wavers before setting itself firmly back in place. “You got me there. Listen, Dean, before you pull your gun on me, or that silver pocket-knife in your back pocket, or the flask of holy water inside your coat, let me explain myself.”

Dean takes a step back. He put that gun, knife, and flask where they are back at his house. By himself. Alone in his room. So, either this man can see the items on Dean somehow, or he was spying on Dean. 

“Dean-”

“You better get the fuck out of here before I gank your ass.” Dean points a finger down the street. “I’m serious. Get out of this town. Out of this fucking state. Never come near me again.”

The man smiles - fucking smiles. “Dean, honey, take a breath.”

He startles. “Honey?”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

The man steps forward, reaching a hand out to cup Dean’s cheek. Dean slaps it away and stumbles back. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“You’ve never been bothered by my touch before.”

“I - you’ve,” Dean shakes his head. “What?”

The man tries to reach for Dean again. When Dean hits the hand coming at him, the man chuckles softly, as if he finds Dean’s reaction adorable. 

“I touched you the night of the fire. You were so cold, so afraid. Holding Sammy tight, forcing yourself not to cry, telling him repeatedly that you’d always take care of him.” The man takes a step closer to Dean. Dean forgets to step back. “I touched you when you got pneumonia that winter. Found you laying in the hospital, so sick and frail and scared. I laid with you in that hospital bed all night, stroking your hair and singing softly to you. I touched you again when you were nine. It was the first Christmas that your dad missed, too busy working a job. You went around town doing chores for the elderly to earn some money, toting a quiet Sammy along. That was back when he was obsessed with that stuffed moose. Remember that? And you wanted so badly to buy Sam a Christmas present. There was this lego house set. It had the parts to build a red two-story, with a green roof, and included those little guys that could live inside it. Sam wanted it so bad. He kept telling you it would be like your home. A house that could come with the two of you wherever you went. But it was Christmas Eve, and you were four dollars short. Do you remember what happened that night, Dean?”

Head spinning, Dean leans his back against the building and takes a deep breath. “I put Sammy to bed, and went out looking for a way to make money.”

“You went to a bar looking for money, Dean. A bar.”

There’s a hint of anger in the man’s voice, like he’s upset that Dean had done something so dangerous. It makes Dean flinch. “My dad always came home from the bars with money. I was nine. How the fuck was I supposed to know he was doing it in ways I couldn’t?”

“I know, Dean,” the man says, his voice so much softer now. When Dean chances a look at him, he finds the man with kind, warm eyes, and a sad smile. “That’s why I made sure you never made it.”

“You didn’t stop me,” Dean growls defensively. “I didn’t need to go anymore! That church was giving out presents.”

The man lifts one corner of his mouth in a smirk. “Yes, Dean. That church was giving out presents. Magically. Right there. And you just so happened to get the lego set for Sammy, the exact same one he had been dying to buy. And not only that, but you got yourself a toy too, because the lady asked if you had any siblings, and since you had Sammy, you got to pick two presents.” 

Dean blinks once. Twice. “I got the Mattel Electronic Football game.”

“You did.” The man smiles. “Your dad hated that thing.”

On accident, Dean laughs. “He did! It made that annoying beeping noise, and he-” Dean remembers what’s going on here, how fucked up this is. He clamps his mouth shut and pushes off the wall, adding some distance between them again. Surprisingly, the man doesn’t pursue him. He just takes a drag of his cigarette and watches Dean with those dark eyes. 

“What are you?”

The man takes a deep breath, nods once like he’s agreeing to something, then answers. “I’m Death.”

Dean stares at him for a moment. “Like, you’re a reaper?”

“No, Dean. They work for me.” The man shrugs a shoulder. “I’m Death.”

“_The_ Death.”

“_The_ Death,” he confirms. 

“What, then, are you here to kill me?”

The man frowns. “Of course not. I’ve been with you since you were four, Dean. Why would I kill you now?”

Dean turns his back to the man, even though that’s the opposite of what his dad would tell him to do. The guy has a point, though. If he’s really been around that long then it wouldn’t make sense for him to hurt Dean right now. If he’s even who he says he is. For all Dean knows, this is just some demon fucking with him. 

Or - or - “Dean, if you come with me, I can prove it.”

“How?”

“A man down the street is due for a heart attack in two minutes, seventeen seconds. One of my reapers is on it, but I will handle it if you want to see. If you want me to prove it.”

“You’re crazy if you really think I’m going to leave this place with you.”

The man flicks his eyes up at the club, then back down at Dean. A second later, the building is lit up like a damn Christmas tree, and the music is cut off. There’s a series of groans and boos before people begin to stream out of the place. The man smiles at him again. “Might as well come now. There’s nothing better for you to do.” 

For some reason, Dean gives in to that. He nods and begins to walk, allowing the man to lead the way. They travel down the street in silence before stopping in front of another bar. A man is in the alley behind it, hands braced on the brick building in front of him, head hanging low. He’s making little noises that are clearly pained. 

“We have to help him!” Dean gasps, starting to run toward him. 

The man wraps a strong arm around Dean’s bicep and holds him back. At least he has the decency to look guilty about it as he tells Dean, “There’s nothing we can do. It’s his time.” 

Before Dean can argue, a girl with bright pink hair that’s wearing a Star Wars shirt under jean overalls walks past them. She stops short, one foot still out in the direction of the dying man, another turning toward them. 

“Sir?” she asks, fear evident in her voice. 

“You can go, Kate. I’ll be handling this tonight.”

The girl looks at Dean, and understanding blooms on her face. Her defenses fall and she smiles. “Of course. Have a good night, Sir.”

And then she vanishes. Into thin air. No black smoke. Dean spins around, trying to find her, but she’s truly gone. When he looks at the man for an explanation, he realizes the man is no longer next to him. He’s standing just behind the guy having the heart attack. With one last glance at Dean, he rests a hand on the dying man’s shoulder and blinks. Heart attack guy drops like a ton of bricks. 

“Oh my god.” Dean squeezes his hands into fists. “Oh my fucking god.”

“Dean-”

“Get the fuck away from me.”

“Dean, I love you. Can’t you see that? I love you.” Dean gets an overwhelming urge to throw up. He puts a hand to his mouth and tries to breathe through his nose. His silence invites Death to speak again. “I’ll give you the world. No more hunting. No more living in motels. No more stealing identities and working dirty jobs for cash.”

Shaking his head, Dean drops his hand and says through gritted teeth, “No.”

“We can travel. Go anywhere you want. _Everywhere_. Dean, I could show you so much!”

“I don’t want to see anything you have to show me!”

“What about your mom?” Death asks, raising an eyebrow and smiling. “You wanna see her?”

“You - I - oh my fucking god!” Dean stumbles back, tears burning his eyes. “You killed my mom, didn't you? You - you killed her. You’ve been following me since I was four. Since she died. You killed her!”

Death face crumples. “Oh, Dean, no. No, I just reaped her.”

“Same thing!”

“It’s not, Dean. I promise you, it’s not.”

“Could you have saved her?”

“Dean-”

“If you really wanted to, did you have the power to save her?”

All the answer Dean needs is the slight hesitation before Death whispers, “Dean.”

Shaking his head, Dean pulls his gun out and points it at Death. Before the man - the _thing _\- can react, Dean’s unloading his clip into his chest. Each bullet knocks Death back an inch or two. When his gun is empty, the two stare at each other for a moment. It feels like the air gets thick around them. 

Dean waits for Death to lash out. To hurt him. Kill him. 

Instead, Death nods slowly. “Take your time, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

  


\----

  


Unfortunately, Death wasn’t lying. Dean starts to see him every few months. He has a feeling he’s around even more than that, but Death can obviously control whether or not he’s visible to Dean, so who knows. Dean’s terrified to do anything. Going to sleep is nearly impossible. Making friends is out of the question. And dating? Even sleeping around? Dean doesn’t even look at anyone attractive anymore. Not when he has a psychotic god-like being that’s in love with him following him around. Who knows what Death would do to anyone he thought Dean was attracted to. 

It wouldn’t be good. 

That’s why, when Dean meets Castiel Novak, a badass angel with a wry sense of humor and the most beautiful blue eyes ever created, Dean’s relieved. He can look at the angel. Laugh with the angel. Touch the angel. 

Because Castiel knows about Death. He knew the first day they met, when he touched a hand to Dean’s face and frowned. “You are marked,” he had told Dean. “Claimed.”

Dean had shaken his head. “I don’t want to be. Not by him.”

And, surprising the hell out of Dean, Castiel had simply smiled and said, “Then we’ll ignore it.”

The first few months, they’re just friends. Dean catches Death watching them on three different occasions, always lurking in the background, but Death never interferes. 

Things get a little more awkward after Dean and Castiel’s first kiss. It happens unexpectedly. One second Dean's cleaning shifter blood off of a silver blade, the next second he has lips pressed against his. The kiss goes from hesitant and chaste to frantic and impassioned within seconds. Dean drops the knife to tangle his fingers in Castiel's hair, and Castiel grabs Dean by the waist, hoisting him up and across the small gap between their chairs so Dean is straddling him. 

When Dean blinks his eyes open, preparing to ask Castiel if he wants to move the party to the bed - it had been 3 years, 4 months, and 27 days since Dean had sex…. But who's counting… - Dean is distracted. Death is standing just a foot or two away from the back of Castiel's chair, one hand in the pocket of his dark gray suit pants, the other holding an angel blade. Dean gripped Castiel tight and looked up at Death with pleading eyes. 

Death left. 

Two days later, when Dean is alone in a bar bathroom, Death comes for him. He wraps a strong hand around Dean's throat and shoves him into the wall, holding the hunter in place as he glares at him. 

"End it," Death growls. 

"No." Dean tries getting away, even though he knows it's pointless. When he sags against the wall in exhaustion, Death's hand still on his throat, Dean asks in a defeated voice, "Can't you just move on? There are billions of people on this planet."

"But they are all insignificant. I want you."

"Well, I don't want you!" Dean's voice cracks, 3 years of exhaustion and pain slamming into him. He cries openly now. "I'm never going to want you." 

Death just watches him silently, the thumb of his hand stroking Dean's soft skin. He lets Dean cry himself out. Even holds him when his knees give out on a particularly harsh sob. Cradling Dean's head to his chest, Death whispers, "I'm right here, Dean. Shhh. You're okay. I'm right here."

Dean can't help but think that the words sound much more like a threat than a comfort. 

\---- 

Castiel is who comes up with the plan. There are certain deaths important enough to the universe, to God’s plan, that Death has to be the one to reap the soul. These are the only times they can be certain Death isn’t watching them. The only time they can talk. It’s only once or twice a month, unfortunately, but it’s something at least. Between that, and texting under fake names, they get back together. 

Whenever Dean catches a glimpse of Death, he ignores him. The monster shows up at bars, gas stations, grocery stores, hunts - he even shows up once to a barbeque Dean goes to with Ash. Every single time this happens, an extra weight is added around Dean’s neck. It never stops. 

One night, when Death is gone reaping someone important, Castiel asks Dean to tell him his location. He doesn’t want to, says it’s too dangerous, but Castiel insists. A few seconds later, Castiel is in Dean’s motel room in Lansing, Michigan. It had been so damn long since they saw each other. Touched each other. Dean can’t get to him fast enough. 

They’re a clash of hands, lips, tongues, teeth. Dean carefully slides Castiel’s trench coat down his arms, knowing how much the angel loves it. Huffing in impatience, Castiel grabs his own dress shirt and rips it off, buttons flying. He doesn’t even bother to take his tie off. Dean’s hands tremble as they work at Castiel’s pants. When they’re halfway down Castiel’s thighs, Castiel swats Dean’s hands away so he can yank Dean’s henley over his head. He gets Dean naked before Dean wins the power struggle again, shoving Castiel’s jeans and underwear the rest of the way down to his ankles. 

Things slow down, then. Their kisses turn soft. Loving. Castiel preps Dean as he whispers things like, “You’re beautiful, Dean,” and “I love you so damn much.” 

By the time Castiel is carefully sinking inside of Dean, the human’s eyes are watering from all of the praise and validation. Their lips lock into a kiss as Castiel bottoms out. 

Then things go straight from zero to sixty. Fingers tangle in hair, teeth bite at throats and lips, tongues dart out for tastes, lips explore. Castiel pounds into Dean like he’s never experienced before. He feels like Castiel sends him straight to heaven as they climax together. 

After, they lay tangled up in the sheets, Dean’s cheek pressed against Castiel’s sweaty chest. Castiel is softly trailing his fingers up and down Dean’s spine. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean asks sleepily. 

“I’m about to do something really unromantic, but I want you to know that I mean it. From the bottom of my grace, I mean it, Dean.”

Dean props himself up on an elbow, feeling nervous. “Okay?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” As Castiel says this, he pulls away from Dean enough to reach down and dig in his trench coat pocket. He presents Dean with a black box. Dean takes it with shaking hands, his breath hitching as he opens it. “Will you marry me, Dean Winchester?”

“I - this - Cas.” Dean looks up into blue eyes. Then he laughs. “How is this unromantic.”

“Well,” Castiel winces. “If you marry me, heaven will protect you. It won’t just be me. It’ll be my garrison. I might even be able to put a request in to Michael for archangel protection of some sort. Or for him to at least talk to Death and get him to back off.”

“Oh.” Dean takes the ring out of the box, fiddling with it. Then he grins. “Well, I really don’t care if that’s the reason. Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. I’ll marry you.” Dean practically lunges at Castiel, yanking him close. 

After another round of heated kisses, the two of them settle on the mattress, tangled together. Dean rests his forehead against Castiel's and sucks in a shaky breath. "I don't think I'd ever survive us not being together. I can't lose you," he confesses. 

"That will never happen, Dean Winchester. You are my forever and always." 

Dean closes his eyes, letting the promise soothe him as he whispers back, "Forever and always." 

They get seventeen more minutes together before Castiel senses Death’s return. He leaves Dean with a final kiss, a ring on his finger, and a promise to return soon. 

\----

Death hates seeing his boy hurting. Before, it was easier. Dean was hurt because of Yellow Eyes, or his father, or a monster he was hunting. It was never because of Death. But now, the agony in Dean's eyes every time Death checks in on him is Death's fault. He knows it is. And he hates himself for it.

Not as much as he hates Castiel, though. 

A fucking angel. 

Out of all of the things Dean could have chosen to fall in love with, out of all of the possible competition Death would need to fight to win Dean Winchester's heart, he never thought it'd be an angel. The one thing in the universe that can survive killing him. Sure, Castiel would have to find Death's scythe first, but then he could use it. Any human like Dean or his family would die along with Death, but an angel? An angel could gank Death, turn around, and marry the love of Death’s fucking existence. 

And that’s the plan. Death knew it the second he saw that ring on Dean’s finger. His boy was passed out in his motel bed, naked, covered in hickies, smelling of sex and angel grace, wearing a fucking ring on his finger. 

They’re planning to get married. 

It’s not going to happen. 

Not on his watch. 

Dean will be sad for a while, yes, but he’ll get over it. Death will never reap Dean. The boy will live forever. That gives him plenty of time to recover. 

Still, Death doesn’t want to start a war with the angels, so he’ll have to be tactful. He’ll have to convince Dean to leave Castiel on his own. He’ll have to convince Dean to become _his_. Exploit Dean’s weaknesses until the boy breaks. 

And everyone knows Dean Winchester’s number one weakness. 

Sammy. 

\---- 

Dean goes a month without seeing Death, not that he believes the monster isn’t around. He and Castiel only manage to see each other in person once, along with a few stray texts and one short phone call. Dean’s life turns into a lonely routine. Hunt. Drink. Miss Castiel. Go to sleep. Wake up. Repeat. 

Pretty soon, it’s Sam’s high school graduation. Dean’s so proud he could burst. He purchases a nice suit and a brand-new laptop as a gift for Sam before heading to California. The plan is to go out to eat the night before graduation as a family - Sam, Dean, Bobby, and John. Dean’s thrilled when Sam calls an hour before they meet at the restaurant, all giddy and nervous about this new girlfriend he really wants to introduce to them. Dean says he should bring her to the dinner, and a fifth is added. 

Dean’s grinning ear to ear, practically walking on air as he thinks of how happy Sammy is when he enters the restaurant. He’s in such a good place, Dean’s even going to tell his family about his impending marriage. His father will probably have a few choice things to say, but he thinks Bobby and Sam will be happy for him. 

Traffic wasn’t the best, so Dean’s the last to arrive. He strolls up to the table where his family is sitting, stumbling mid-step when he sees the person sitting between Sam and an empty chair. 

“Dean!” Sam yells, standing up from the table and hurrying over to hug him. Wrapping his arms around his brother, Dean keeps his eyes glued to the person at the table. When the person winks and smiles at him, his gut twists. 

Sam pulls away and tugs at Dean to pull him forward. “Come meet Jessica! Oh, you’re gonna love her, Dean. She’s awesome! And she’s going to Stanford too!”

“Oh yeah?” Dean croaks, eyes glued on the person Sam’s pointing at. The person who is most definitely not Jessica. Not even a she. Not even a person, technically. 

“I’ve heard so much about you, Dean,” Death says in that low, raspy voice of his as he stands up and extends a hand. “It’s great to meet you.”

Dean stares at the end, then glances at everyone watching them. All smiles and easy postures. They all see a girl. They all see Jessica. Dean’s the only one seeing Death’s true identity. Or, most likely, the identity he uses for Dean. The hot guy with the leather jacket, and slicked back hair, and a grin that could make your damn underwear melt if you didn’t know he killed people as a living. 

“Dean,” Sam growls, clearly offended. 

Snapping out of it, Dean forces a tense smile and quickly shakes Death’s hand. “Great to meet you, too.”

“Here, Dean, take a seat,” Death says with a smile. He gestures to the empty seat between him and Bobby at the round table. The only available seat. Everyone continues to stare at Dean as he tries to force his feet to move. It takes longer than it should, but he eventually manages to shuffle over to the chair and sink into it. When the waitress comes by to take their orders, Dean orders a double whiskey - no soda, no ice, no food. 

When a hand rests on Dean’s knee beneath the table, he swallows a mouthful of bile. The second that whiskey is in front of him, he’s downing half the glass. 

“Dean,” John says softly from across the table, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah. Yup. Yes. Fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Bobby asks. 

“Definitely. Perfectly great, yup. Good.”

Death moves his hand on Dean’s knee, gently stroking the area like he’s trying to soothe him. Does this dude not understand that he’s what’s making Dean so upset? 

There’s a familiar pull that Dean feels in his chest. A constant order to be calm, to breathe, to trust. He’s felt it more than once in his life, but it wasn’t until he felt it that night in the bathroom, as Death held him while he broke down, that Dean realized what it was. This is Death pulling at his soul. Soothing him. 

Because of that, Dean fights it. He fights it like hell. 

\---- 

The second Dean manages to get Death alone, he has him shoved up against the wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Well, ya know, since you picked the wrong guy, I figured I’d settle for the other Winchester.”

“I - what?” Dean’s heart starts pounding in his chest. “I didn’t pick anyone."

“You might have taken that ring off your finger, Dean, but I saw it. The night he proposed, I saw it. And word travels fast. An angel marrying a human?” Death releases a low whistle, shaking his head. “That’s the kind of gossip no amount of sneaking around can hide.”

Dean deflates, letting go of Death so he can stumble back. Tears burn his eyes as reality comes crashing down. He never fooled Death. The monster was just letting him and Castiel play pretend, all the while planning his revenge with Sam. 

God, Sam. Dean has to protect Sam. “Please, just - just leave him alone. Leave him out of this.”

“I plan on spending my life with one of the Winchester brothers, Dean.” Death shrugs a shoulder, clearly fighting a smirk. “Not my fault you’re making me choose him.”

\----

Castiel has never felt so powerless. He has waged wars. Flattened cities. Conducted miracles. He is one of Michael's _chosen_. There has never been something he couldn't overcome. 

Death will not be the one to take him down. Castiel _refuses. _He will wreck the son of a bitch, even if he wrecks himself. 

"It's not him, Cas. It's me. He came one night when I was upset and comforted me. And - and we, we uh, we got together. And I love him. I wanna - I'm going to be with him, Castiel. I'm sorry." 

The words - choked and trembling - play on a loop in Castiel's mind as he rips through the night club Gabriel runs. He passes angels, demons, reapers, and who knows what else. All of them turn as they watch sparks of grace fly off of him. Most move out of his way fast enough. The ones who don't get thrown. 

Death is waiting for him when he plows through the door to the VIP section, one hand casually in the pocket of his dress pants, the other cradling a glass of expensive whiskey. All it takes is that initial look at him, and Castiel's rage plumes into a nuclear explosion, just begging to be let loose. 

To detonate. 

His eyes flick around the room, scanning for Dean. The young man is nearby, sitting in an oversized chair that screams power and luxury, looking as if he'd kill to be anywhere else. Fear flashes in his beautiful green eyes when Castiel locks their gazes. For just a second, everything falls away. They're back in the hotel room, sweaty and naked after just making love. The sheets are tangled in their legs. Dean's still peppering lazy kisses on his chest. Castiel is trying to count Dean's freckles, bitching at the young man go stop squirming around so much. That overwhelming realization that Castiel had finally _found it. _That thing everyone always tried to explain to him.

Love. 

_Dean?_

_Yeah, Cas?_

_Will you marry me? _

"You're not welcome here," Death says in a cocky tone. 

Keeping his eyes on Dean, Castiel ignores the being trying to speak to him. Death is nothing right now. Non-existent. Castiel didn't come here for a fight. He came here for Dean. Death will be dealt with later, once he knows the love of his life is safe. 

Castiel takes two steps toward Dean, stopping when Death grabs him by the wrist. "He's mine. Get over it."

Still ignoring Death, Castiel gives Dean a reassuring smile. "Are you okay, baby? Are you hurt?"

"I would _never _hurt him!" Death growls, and that does it. Castiel explodes. 

Whipping around, Castiel shoves Death back and screams, "All you've ever done is hurt him!"

“I’ve done what’s best for him!”

“What’s best for him? What’s best for him!? You reaped his mother! You haunted him all his life. You won’t let him be happy! You’re a selfish prick!” 

“Stop,” Dean cries, standing up from his seat and trying to walk toward them. “Stop, please!”

Both Death and Castiel ignore him. Before he can get closer, an arm is wrapped around his waist and Dean is being lifted in the air. He panics, kicking out a leg, eyes locked on the two men who supposedly love him more than anything in the world, neither of them aware he’s about to be fucking kidnapped. 

Just as Dean’s about to scream, hoping it can be heard over the music and the fighting, a soft voice in his ear says, “It’s Gabriel. You’re safe.”

Dean sags in relief as Castiel’s brother continues to drag him out of the VIP section and into a back hallway. When he’s put back on his own feet, Dean gets the urge to run. To just sprint until his lungs give out. Almost like Gabriel can read his mind, he says, “You can’t outrun him, Dean. Either of ‘em.” 

“I just want it to be over.” Dean notices he’s crying, but he can’t get himself to care. It’s the first time he’s been able to confide in someone since Death made him break things off with Castiel. He’s been so lonely. So lost. Just going wherever Death tells him to go, doing whatever Death wants to do. “I need it to be over.”

“It will be. Soon.” Gabriel takes Dean’s hand and gives it a small squeeze. “Do you trust me?”

It takes less than a second for Dean to know the answer to that. Castiel always said Gabe was trustworthy. One of the only people Castiel can confide in. Sure, he messes around a lot, and he owns a pretty controversial club, but Gabriel would lay his life down for Castiel, and Castiel claims not a lot of angels would do the same. 

“Yes. I trust you.” 

“Okay.” Gabriel brings his free hand to Dean’s forehead and winks. “Bend your knees.”

And then the world drops out from under them, and Dean’s flying. 

\---- 

It’s just after Death has gotten a good slice of Castiel’s arm with an angel blade that he senses it. Dean’s gone. At some point, during the yelling, the shoving, and the blades coming out, Dean left. Or was he taken? 

Castiel lunges for him and he deflects it. His heart feels like it’s in his throat, which is funny, because he doesn’t have a heart. “Castiel, stop!”

“No! You’ve bee-”

“Dean’s gone!” That gets Castiel to stop. He straightens his posture, lowering his blade just enough where it’s less offensive but still able to protect him if necessary. “Someone took him.”

Castiel arches an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think he’d run on his own?”

“Not with Sammy’s life on the line.”

Rage flashes in Castiel’s blue eyes as they narrow on Death. “I knew it. I knew you were using Sam to get to him.”

“Now is not the time, someone took Dean!” 

“Yeah. I know.” Castiel winks at Death, then lunges again. The angel blade pierces straight through Death’s chest. His ears fill with a high-pitched ringing that seems to be coming from the inside. It won’t kill him, only his scythe can kill him, but he’s still an angel in a sense, and the blade is doing some real fucking damage. In fact, it even brings him to his knees. 

As Death looks up at Castiel, a drop of blood coming out of his mouth and trailing down his chin, Castiel kneels on one knee and smirks. “I took him.”

\---- 

It’s a shotgun wedding if Dean’s ever seen one. Gabriel officiates it, which is entertaining, to say the least. He even threw in some Elvis impersonator action halfway through the vows, which made even Castiel laugh, the anxiety in his eyes finally disappearing. Unlike a wedding between humans, there’s no marriage license, no legal witness needed. All there needs to be is Michael. He stands ten feet away from the ceremony, hands in the pockets of his pants, watching the whole thing carefully. 

It’s the first time in history a human will be marrying an angel. Michael hopes that, wherever his useless father is, he loathes the knowledge that this is happening in his supposedly pure kingdom. That’s half the reason Michael is doing this. To stick it to the ass that left abandoned them. 

Then there’s a quarter of the remaining reason dedicated to Castiel. A damn good brother, and an even better soldier. 

And that last quarter. That’s a selfish one. 

Michael wants to find love someday. He wants to feel what Castiel feels. Wants his grace to sing like Castiel’s does. He wants to shed the straight-laced soldier persona and slip into someone softer. Someone that smiles and laughs. Someone that enjoys the little things. Someone that makes him _want _to get up in the morning, instead of just _needing _to in order to fulfill his duties. 

The ceremony ends. The few angels in Castiel’s close circle that were allowed to come begin to clap and holler. Castiel cradles Dean’s face, kissing him softly. Slowly. Thoroughly. They pull away and Dean rubs the tip of his nose against Castiel’s, making the angel laugh quietly to himself. 

It’s so pure, Michael actually smiles. He doesn’t fight it, either. He lets it remain on his face as he steps forward and takes one hand from each of the two men. The three of them create a circle, and Castiel’s grace flows into Dean at the same time that Michael’s flows into the both of them. Michael doesn’t feel anything but a slight drain in energy, but he can see on Dean’s face that the once human can feel every ounce of grace transforming his cells. 

When the ritual is finished, Dean stumbles back with a gasp. He looks up at Castiel, then Michael, with wide green eyes. “What was that?”

“You’re an angel now. Weak. Not pure. But an angel. Enough for immortality. Enough for you to wield Death’s scythe without dying yourself,” Michael explains. 

“To - to wield - what - no! I can’t kill him! You guys have to!”

“Dean, you’re the only one who can get him to let his guard down. You’re the only one who has a chance,” Castiel says. “It has to be you.”

“I don’t know where his scythe is! And how will I convince him to believe me?”

Castiel puts a hand to Dean’s cheek, trying to calm him. “We know where the scythe is, Dean. We can get it. And you’ll convince him because you’re going to go running back to him. Terrified. Begging. Telling him you didn’t want to go, that you weren’t in on this plan. Pleading with him not to hurt Sammy. You’ve only been gone an hour or so. He’ll believe you.”

Dean huffs. “No, he won’t. And even if he does, that dude can sense the hell out of everything I feel and think. You honestly believe that he won’t sense I’m a fucking angel now?" 

"That's not an issue. You'll tell him Castiel brought you straight to me and begged me to give you this protection. I've given this protection before - only to a very select few humans over my lifetime - but the marriage isn't required for it. He will believe I gave you the protection. Then tell him you panicked and came back to him." 

"He won't buy it."

"You'll _make_ him buy it, Dean. He's in love with you. Obsessively so. In his mind, there's no ending other than the one he wants," Michael explains. "You're going to be giving him that ending. He won't want to question it. He's too arrogant. He'll gloat and say something about how he always knew you'd come back."

"I can't. Cas," Dean turns to his now husband, a tear slipping down his cheek. "I can't- don't make me go back to that monster. Please. Don't make me." 

"Do it for Sam," Castiel whispers, a tear of his own escaping. "Do it for me. He won't hurt you. Even if he figures you out, he would never hurt you."

"How long until you get the scythe?" Dean asks. 

Michael answers this question, giving Dean an encouraging smile. "Just a few hours. You'll only have to be with Death for a few hours."

"How will I get it?" 

"Let us handle that. When you see it, grab it. You have to cut his head off. A clean slice." 

Dean stares at Michael with his mouth open. He realizes he's trembling when Castiel pulls him in close for a hug. 

"You're a hunter, babe," Castiel whispers. "Just pretend you're on a hunt."

"Okay. Yes. A hunt." Dean nods, clinging to Castiel. "I can do that."

"You _can, _Dean. I know you can. And then, after, we can finally be together. Forever and always."

Dean latches onto the promise Castiel made that night that feels like an entire lifetime ago. He kisses Castiel like it's their last, whispering against his lips, "Forever and always." 

\---

Death has Dean stripped down to his boxers, hands tangled in Dean's hair as he guides the boy back to the bed. Dean had come back to him an hour ago, sobbing and hysterical. He had clung to Death like a life raft. "I didn't say he could do it! I wasn't in on the plan. I promise! I swear! Please, don't hurt Sammy. Please! I promise. I'm yours. I promise you I'm yours."

And Death wanted to believe him so damn bad, but he needed Dean to _prove _it. When he told Dean what he'd have to do, part of him expected the boy to run screaming. Instead, Dean had looked thankful. _Almost _happy even. He was glad to be given the chance to prove himself, and Death has to say, the gorgeous boy has already done an excellent job. 

"Hands and knees," Death orders, pushing Dean so he falls back on the bed. The boy scrambles into position, one hand slipping a little. He gets purchase on the sheets beneath the pillow and holds himself up as Death comes up behind him. 

Just as he feels Death’s skin touching his, Dean closes his hand around the metal handle of the miniature scythe and swings around. There’s a whirring sound as the thing extends in size, making it the correct size at just the right moment. Dean flinches when the warm blood sprays across his face, but he forces to keep his eyes wide open after, knuckles white where he grips the weapon. He stares at Death’s headless body, panting as he waits for the creature to hop back up. To laugh at Dean, then kill Dean himself. 

Instead, there’s the telltale sounds of wings, and Dean looks up a second later to find Castiel and Michael. Dean has no idea he is violently shaking, not until Castiel walks up to him. 

“Dean?”

Dean stares straight past him, eyes locked on Death again. His teeth clack together from how hard his body jerks. 

“Dean, baby, it’s over now.”

Dean feels Castiel tug at the weapon, trying to take it from him, but he fights the man. He can’t let go. Not yet. Dean knows Death will come back. He just… he knows.

“Dean.” Castiel cups the side of his cheek, hand slipping a bit from the blood there. “Dean, can you look at me?”

Blinking slowly, Dean manages to lift his chin enough to meet Castiel’s eyes. The blue is like a breath of fresh air.

“It’s over, Dean.”

Relief knocks Dean to his knees. Castiel goes down with him, pulling Dean into his arms and cradling him to his chest. “It’s over, Dean,” Castiel says again. “It’s over.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr/twitter @ destiel-love-forever


End file.
